Tate (Mountain Men 3)

The intimacy eased the ache in my heart, the pain at having seen his brutality up close. It was nothing like I thought it would be.

Once, years ago, some of us took a trip to Ireland and watched a bare-knuckled fight. The McCarthy men, friends of the Cowens, are experts. And it was really, really, bloody hot.

But that was controlled, somehow managed. This… was not.

For some reason, I thought watching Tate hurt Fergus would be the same as the fight.

Don’t get me wrong, I love that he defended me.

And he’s right, Fergus did deserve it.

But this… the pain of it all, the intensity… it was too bloody much.

Too much.

I think it’s everything, though. My fears from what I’ve seen.

My fears of what happens next.

I’m tired, as we’re nearing evening, and amazed that we’ve come this far so quickly. A car ride and ferry to Dublin would take a good nine to ten hours at the very least, and we’re here in the space of the time it took us to jump each other’s bones.

I can deal with that.

Tate wordlessly reaches for my hand and tangles our fingers together. It gives me momentary solace, but I wonder… what will happen to us next? I’ve gotten the Clan into so much trouble. Will I ever be able to make up for what I’ve done? Will they ever forgive me?

Will he?

“We’ve got a short ride to Ballyhock,” Tate says, after we exit. “But our friends aren’t far away.”

I’ve never been here before. I wish it was under better conditions, but I’ll take what I can.

I put us here. I did.

And it’s up to me to get us out of this mess.

The car that waits for us is a long, sleek navy blue with a sunroof. Tate snickers. “Leave it to Lachlan to bloody show off, eh?”

The name rings a bell, but I haven’t met him before. Then I remember something I heard from my research at one point. “Oooh. He’s the one that was in love with Sheena’s younger sister, but when they met she was like a wee girl, right? And he waited all those years for her? Like her bodyguard, and they were soulmates and now they’re married with children, right?”

He gives me a sidelong glance with pursed lips and doesn’t reply at first. I feel my cheeks flush. I know this because of my research, and it’s a reminder I’ve stuck my nose where it doesn’t belong. But when he replies, he doesn’t reprimand or scold.

“Of course he did,” he says, as if waiting years for a girl to grow up is normal and expected. “How could he do anything else? He loves her.”

He loves her.

My heart twangs like a plucked string on a guitar.

He loves her.

And for one brief moment, I forgive him his violence and I forgive myself for my betrayal. For one brief moment, I give thanks that we’ve made it as far as we have. Because any woman who’s somehow earned the love of a man of the Clan is a lucky lass indeed.

I will do everything I can to keep his love, to earn my place in the ranks of graceful women of the Clan.

I don’t know if it’s possible. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to, but I’ll do whatever it takes.

A large, burly bloke with wavy brown hair comes to the side of the car, grinning at Tate like he’s a long-lost friend. They do the man-hug thing, smacking each other on the backs so hard I wince, then Tate puts his arm around me.

“Lachlan, meet Fran.”

Lachlan smiles at me and shakes my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

That’s one that seems okay enough with me being here, I guess. I wonder if they know who I am and what I’ve done? Will they all be as cordial as they are now when they find out? I’ve kept the McCarthy Clan mostly out of the books but have definitely spied on them as well.

I sigh, as I slide in beside Tate.

Wow. Tate wasn’t kidding, Lachlan really has gone all out. While the guys talk easily about their friends and recent events since they last saw each other, Tate holds my hand, and I take in every detail. Leather-clad interior, a sunroof, pristine condition.

“I’d reckon this isn’t the car you use to take the bairns out for a spin, eh?”

Lachlan snorts. “Hardly.”

They talk about the children, his wife Fiona’s recent completion of a graduate degree, and how Keenan, the Irish leader, is considering yet another addition on the huge home. And while I listen with one ear, my mind is preoccupied.

Broken bones. Blood-laced spittle. A call to come pick up a body or a witness, whichever the choice.

Tate’s Clan… the Clan I’ve idolized and glorified in my fiction, is a band of brutal, vicious brothers, who’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. How have I not seen this, not really known this until now? I’ve seen the way they’d burn full kingdoms for their loved ones, the fierce, unfettered passion in their eyes.